My Oblivious Sister
by justonemoreartist
Summary: The queen of Arendelle, secure in her magic, position and family, wants for nothing. Nothing, except perhaps some well-needed introspection, because Anna's noticing some things about Elsa that she herself clearly doesn't. Follow Anna as she realizes Elsa's true preferences and tries to tell her sister what she doesn't know about herself. Based off a prompt. Contains Elsanna.


**Author's Note:** This was written as part of an art-writing trade with Tumblr user Winterbark; she requested a drabble(!) wherein Elsa is oblivious to her own lesbianism while Anna is painfully aware of it, and specifically that the fic be as fluffy as possible. My track record in following prompts to the letter shall speak for itself, as will this fic.

**Content Warning:** There is _one_ swear in this. One. I was a good little girl.

* * *

><p><strong>My Oblivious Sister<strong>

Elsa doesn't dance.

It's not that she doesn't know how; both princesses were taught to dance the waltz, the reinlender, the polka, and plenty of other less important dances in order to - in Anna's case, _appear _to - be the graceful royal ladies of Arendelle. Anna knows she can dance; she would overhear Elsa's instructor praising the young woman's grace whenever Anna lingered outside the ballroom where the pair practiced, the old man, stiff as a board despite an aging back, leading the then princess with his gnarled hands as he counted the time, her skirts swishing when they moved as one.

It's not that Elsa doesn't like dancing, either; Anna has caught her on more than one occasion in her office humming quietly to herself as she reads from some treaty or law or royal request, unaware of the fact that her "pacing" comes in the form of well-worn patterns; a step there, a heel turn here, a spin that takes her back around, her hands bearing not gloves but paper and empty air.

And it's not that it isn't important: Anna hears the nobles, foreign and domestic, whispering to one another, clustered in small knots that work their way under her skin, about how the queen never deigns to touch another. They always stop talking once the princess rushes up to them in a huff, and by the time she reaches them the conversation has moved on to blander topics - never the weather, though - and it would be the height of rudeness to remind them that she heard them.

She usually does so with perfect indignation and slightly less than perfect accusations. Usually the perfect ones come later, when she's preparing for bed.

No, Elsa doesn't dance. Elsa, when she attends functions, remains regal and upright and entirely unapproachable by any with the intent of dancing with her. They may entreat her, they may beg her, but she remains aloof, her hands folded primly, one over the other, untouched by anyone. Anyone, that is, besides Anna herself.

Elsa likes it when Anna touches her.

Maybe it's because they've been apart for years, and they have so many moments to make up for, so many embraces lost, so many touches that turned into aborted gestures when Elsa retreated and Anna stayed, faithful and forlorn. Maybe it's because her sense of touch was dulled considerably by those thick gloves, the ones that, though they kept her hands as soft as satin, also kept a whole world at bay, one that she wants to rediscover through her fingertips as they glide over leather and wood and the prickling skin of her younger sister. Maybe it's because she has convinced herself that Anna's icy rebirth imbued her with some sort of protection against the danger Elsa's bare skin represents, and that to touch anyone else is to expose them to harm.

Or maybe, like Anna hopes it is, it's because she likes Anna's hugs best. And Anna's caresses. And Anna's warmth.

And Anna's everything, but that is too much to ask for.

It's enough to be the one right next to her at all times, except when she simply can't refuse a request to dance, or Kristoff has decided that screw propriety, his royal title doesn't mean he can't jump off a balcony and run screaming into the night when a lady takes an interest in him and must be enticed back with words like "royal duty" and "but you promised" and "there's cake", or the snacks table is far too tempting to resist (but she always returns with at least two chocolates). She tells herself as much, so it has to be true, because Anna is not a liar.

It strikes her suddenly, when she is being whirled around the room in increasingly painful circles by the Earl of Fottosk, that Elsa may well be.

Not _intentionally_, not like how Elsa lied about the reason why she kept herself apart all those years; but that is a lie of omission, Anna thinks, and not as bad as an outright fabrication; but rather more a diversion of the truth than a complete rejection of it.

Elsa loves to dance.

Elsa doesn't like to dance with_ men_.

* * *

><p>Anna bursts into Kristoff's room. "Kristoff! How do you know you're into women?"<p>

Kristoff, who had been shaving, doesn't even turn his head from the mirror as he says, "that explains a lot."

She winces, thinking back to that disastrous kiss, the one that felt more like a pair of sloppy eaters than the romantic expression of pure bliss and love she had always dreamed it would be. Their decision to part as friends had been, in the end, a good thing, even if she'd whimpered and whined about it to a sympathetic sister who stroked her hair and told her that she'd made the right choice. Not because Kristoff wasn't a fine, if...uncultured man, but because the princess had already been subjected to the results of romance that bloomed, lingered, and died far too quickly.

She'd been too upset at the time to argue that Hans and Kristoff were two extremely different men, but she knew her sister was aware of that. Her trust in Kristoff was absolute, which was why he was so busy, his room at the palace often unoccupied. Anna had been lucky today.

"No, no, it's…" She grits her teeth, shoulders hunching as she rubs her neck. Kristoff scrapes the knife against the edge of his jaw, the white foam dotted with small pieces of hair as he watches her in the mirror. "It's not _me_, I'm not into women."

"...okay," he says, and her eyes narrow when his flick to the ceiling for a moment before his gaze returns to hers. "I believe that." His tone is as flat as his blade.

"No, but really, it's not me, I'm not-okay it's about Elsa," she says quickly.

He drops his knife in the bowl. "I _knew-_wait." He straightens, giving her a look that is a strange cross between interest and suspicion. "When you say it's about Elsa…" His words are unusually hesitant.

"I think that Elsa is into women," she responds, folding her arms, and waits for his reaction, trying not to bite her lip. Her shoes tap against the ground instead. "As in, romantically." She frowns. Is there any other way to be into women? She'll have to ask him about that.

He groans and clutches at his half-shaved face, some of the shaving soap dripping down onto his shirt. The shirt that was a gift from the queen herself, so that "our Royal Icemaster and Deliverer might enjoy fine garments in our presence". The one he treats just as poorly as the rest of his shirts.

"And why do we think that," he says, half into one of his big palms.

Anna is happy to answer that because she _has_ an answer to that. "Because she doesn't dance with men!" she exclaims triumphantly, nodding in time to her explanation.

He is not impressed, one eyebrow rising, drawing creases in his forehead as he regards her. "And that's why she prefers women."

"Exactly."

"Do you have other proof that she prefers women? ANY other proof?"

"Uhhhhh….no?" Does she need any? His expression seems to imply it, but come on! Anna knows she's right. It explains everything! Like how she won't dance with men. Or why she's refused any and all offers of marriage, or at least courtship, in the past. Or...or…

She plops down on the bed, frowning at her knees. Or...what, exactly? He's right; there's very little proof right there, and most of it seems to imply Elsa is a shut-in who doesn't like touching people which...is not too far from the truth.

On the other hand…

She has this gut feeling, the same feeling she had when staring at the first sprays of ice she'd ever seen in her life before looking up at her sister's wide eyes, this feeling that she's settled upon some big secret that would explain every little thing that she's brushed off or ignored over these long years, and Anna isn't one to ignore her gut. It may have gotten her into trouble in the past, but still, she has this...this _feeling_...

She looks back up at Kristoff, who had fished his knife out of the bowl and is now cleaning it on his pants. Also a royal gift.

"So...how _do_ you know you're into women?" she asks.

"Um," he says.

* * *

><p>There has to be <em>someone<em> who can help her with this. Someone, or something.

"Anna?"

But in the meantime…

Anna turns on one heel, her face already breaking into a grin upon hearing her sister say her name. "Yes?"

Elsa is making her way down the hall, and though Anna knows, deep down, that she is walking normally, she can't help but notice the way that her sister's hips tend to roll when she walks. Anna's hips don't do that, she's sure. Maybe they're built differently.

Very differently, if Elsa really is into women.

"I'm glad I caught you," her sister says as she comes upon her, stopping with plenty of room between them. Anna sighs inwardly and takes her customary step forward, and if Elsa tenses then it's just an old habit rearing its ugly head; she's learning to stay, and that makes Anna happier than anything else. "I had thought you'd go out with Kristoff today."

"Oh?" But why would she be off with Kristoff when Elsa wanted her here?

"The harvest festival…?" Elsa prompts, and Anna starts.

"Oh, was that today? I just...I forgot." That would explain why he had been so dressed up, despite leaving the palace just over an hour ago. And, come to think of it, all the hustle and bustle around the place. Maybe she'd just grown so used to the gates being opened that she'd lost the ability to tell the difference between quiet and busy.

"Did you still want to attend?" Elsa asks, bringing her hands together in a way that highlights how naked they are.

Anna wrenches her gaze up to her face. Her eyes are exceptionally blue, and sometimes she's stunned at how they're looking at her, and not away. "But with him gone, I don't have anyone to go with."

Elsa's eyes are sparkling with mirth. "Are you so sure of that?"

"...oh," Anna says and, biting her lip, accepts Elsa's hand.

Time was, Elsa wouldn't leave the palace grounds, sometimes not even the palace. Time was, Anna played in the courtyard all year round while Elsa stayed inside, day after day. Time was, Elsa used to be surprised by the season changes; she always thought they came too suddenly, while Anna watched the leaves turn or the snows retreat and wondered how anyone could think that.

Elsa still clung to the safety of her walls and her pillars and her doors, a child reared in darkness, one foot in shadow and the other in light, but Anna had found to her pleasant surprise that whenever she held Elsa's hand, some of that safety seemed to come along with them. Or, at least, Elsa seemed to think so, but that was all that mattered.

Anna smiles at her sister, and her chest grows lighter when Elsa returns the gesture, her expression quieter, more controlled, but no less joyous. "Are you ready to go?" Elsa asks, her gaze flicking over Anna's outfit. It's simple, and certainly less ornate as compared to her sister's clothing, which may as well be spun gold to match her hair for how well it suits her, but Anna just shrugs and says, "born ready," which makes Elsa laugh as the two of them walk together, fingers entwined, out to see the people.

She'll find evidence later.

* * *

><p>It's late at night when Anna receives her first confirmation of Elsa's preferences.<p>

"Good evening...and look at you," Elsa says, holding back laughter behind one small hand as Anna staggers into the library with an armload of books. She manages to make it to the small table in front of one of the law shelves before the books come spilling out and onto the smooth surface, and she's not fast enough to stop some from sailing right over the edge.

Her sister makes a soft noise under her breath and pulls her bare feet out from under her, getting up from the cushiony armchair that she was reclining in, setting her book face down on one of the armrests.

"Don't mind me, I'm just being clumsy," Anna says hastily, crouching and grabbing books as quickly as she can. She drops two as a result. "Just being Anna, 'cause Anna is clumsy, not to worry at all…" She scoops them up, tossing them onto the table and returning for more.

Elsa kneels beside her and picks up a book. She flips it over, looks at the title, and frowns with her eyebrows while her lips and eyes smile. "'A Discussion of Modern Romantic Love, As It Appears Across Cultures'?" She picks up another book, this one labelled "What Love Looks Like: How to Tell When Your Paramour is Truly _Your_ Paramour", and slowly tilts it towards Anna. "Is, um," she says, a faint worry line wiggling its way between her brows, "is there something I should know?"

She doesn't mention Hans because, like other discussions they've had before, he doesn't need to be named to be there, hovering over them like some ghoul.

"I'm doing a report," is the first thing that Anna thinks and is therefore the first thing she says. "It's not like I'm in love with anyone." She's not making that mistake a third time. Her heart only has room for one.

Elsa's eyebrows head north. "Oh." She hands Anna the book but doesn't say anything further, which Anna is quite thankful for, because otherwise she'd have to explain whom she's doing the report for and what it's on and quite frankly she did not plan that far ahead. She stands and brushes off her dress before sticking out a hand to her sister. It's always a shock to feel Elsa's palm against her own, but the weight that pulls against her shoulder as Elsa stands is as real as the woman before her. She gives her sister a brief, thankful grin before dumping the books on the table and begins to sort them. This one is history, this is philosophy, this is cultural differences, this…she can't even remember, so into the philosophy section it goes.

"So I suppose you've been reading all...this," here Elsa indicates with one hand one of the mounds of books Anna has stacked precariously on the table, "instead of the books I gave you?"

"Yeah, sorry, I just...I had to read these, so…" Not to mention she's not really interested in poetry. It was hard enough slogging through that section when she still had a tutor on literature; she's not going to revisit that anytime soon, no matter how much Elsa seems to like this Katherine Philips.

Anna cocks her head, eying Elsa. "But did you read any of the ones I'd given you?" She doesn't let her interest seep into her voice, instead keeps things casual. A simple question on a simple matter involving some not so simple books.

The ones she'd stolen from Kristoff's room, after discovering he had surprisingly good taste in erotic literature. Flipping through "The Temple of Love" had been a real treat, especially with him standing right there with a face that grew redder with each passing second. Most of the books were about lower-class men who were exceptionally handsome, muscular, rugged, and had a strong interest in the upper-class female protagonist. Perfect for her needs. All it had taken was an offhanded suggestion that perhaps Elsa stop poring over lawbooks and ledgers and letters from vassals and try some _real_ reading for once, hmmm?

"I...did," Elsa says, as she settles back into her chair, drawing her legs beneath her. "I finished the...the second one you gave me."

"And what did you think of it?"

Elsa leans back into the cushions, gnawing at the inside of her cheek as she looks away. Her bare toes peek out of the end of her long robe, and her hair is undone from its usual braid. She hasn't brushed it yet, so it curls in gentle corkscrews as it cascades down her shoulders and chest. It's a lovely effect, made lovelier still by the softness of the firelight against the dark background.

"It…" She glances guiltily at her sister, stroking the spine of her book with one hand. "It really wasn't to my taste, I think. But I appreciate the thought."

"And I appreciate_ your _thoughts…" Anna mutters, turning away before she can see Elsa frowning at her.

The evidence is as plain as the nose on her face: Elsa does not care for men in her romance novels. She doesn't care for dancing with men.

Kristoff should never have doubted her. Anna knows she's right, and she'll keep looking for more proof if it takes her months.

* * *

><p>It's at a ball the week later that Anna receives her second confirmation.<p>

They're standing together, as usual, up on the dais, with Elsa to her left, bedecked in another one of her ice gowns, her crown absent. Anna's wondered about that upon occasion, but Elsa has only ever flushed and refused to explain why she never wears the crown anymore. Maybe she doesn't like how it looks against her hair. Anna will have to respectfully disagree.

Her dress this time is shoulderless, exposing enough of her creamy skin that Anna wonders if it's proper. She's wearing a necklace - Anna thinks it belonged to Mother - that dips low, drawing the eye along with it. Her arms are long, thin, and as milky white as the Moon hung above a still lake, her hair sparkling in the light, the skein of ice keeping it controlled just barely visible. One would really have to look to see. Neither of them wear earrings, though Mother used to often enough, but Anna can just imagine Elsa dripping with jewels. Sapphires. She'd look good wearing those. Perhaps she can convince her to try some on at some point.

She's found that Elsa will agree to a lot, if it makes Anna happy. And _that_ thought makes Anna very happy indeed.

Elsa's gaze roams over the crowd, skimming across their heads and shoulders like a skiff riding the waves, her sight settling upon those important guests, they bowing or curtseying in response to her attention, she nodding her head.

They're lucky tonight that there aren't too many men clamoring for Elsa's hand - to dance with her, that is. She's only had to refuse just over a handful; far fewer than the norm. Anna prefers it when they're not interrupted.

She takes in a deep breath, reveling in the slight chill that comes with Elsa's dress. It's a nice respite when surrounded by chattering lords and ladies and the room swells with a heat that's stifling instead of enjoyable.

In time, she becomes aware of the fact that Elsa's eyes have stopped moving and have honed in on someone. Anna follows her gaze and her heart leaps into her mouth; Elsa is watching the wife of the French ambassador as she laughs with her husband and several of their friends.

Anna jerks her head back, staring out into space, _not_ looking at her sister. Oh, _wow_. There was blatant staring, and then there was _blatant_ staring, and Elsa is doing the latter, her gaze taking in the woman from top to bottom. She's certain that there is not a single part of the woman that Elsa hasn't scrutinized, and closely, too. Anna counts silently in her head, her heartbeat increasing as the seconds turn into minutes and Elsa doesn't look away. She resolves not to mention it, because Elsa would be incredibly embarrassed to be caught staring so obviously at a woman.

"I like her dress," Elsa murmurs, leaning towards Anna as she speaks.

What.

"What?" Anna says.

"The French ambassador's wife; I like her dress."

"Oh, is _that_ what you like about he-yeah. It's...it's a nice dress. Very green."

Elsa blinks and turns her head to look at her sister. Anna sneaks a glance at the dress. It's a vivid pink. Damn.

"And by 'green' I mean...something Kristoff told me," she says, her mind working frantically. Thankfully, she goes to church regularly, which means God is watching over her, so Elsa takes some time thinking herself before she asks her what that even means.

"Anna, what does that even mean?"

"It...it certainly means something," Anna begins, "because if it didn't mean anything I'd just be...anyways, it uh… when you say something's 'very green' it's slang for… up and coming. Right. Like, it'll be popular soon, but it's not quite there yet. So, uh, good eyes. And taste."

Elsa considers this quietly for a few moments, her head falling back as she thinks while Anna tries not to sweat despite the cold. She swallows hard a few times and examines the banners hung at the far end of the room. They display a profile of Elsa's silhouette in gold against a split background of green and purple. She wonders when Elsa posed for that, or if the person who designed the banner simply imagined what she would look like; silent, simple, and yet the sight so reassuring, even from a distance.

Elsa licks her lips before she speaks. "I guess that makes sense. It's sort of like...a young sapling is green."

"Of course it makes sense," Anna responds immediately. "Although if it didn't it'd be just some silly slang, right?" She laughs to indicate how not important this is and is rewarded with a small, fond smile that brightens Elsa's eyes, one that never fails to make her stop and stare for a while, breathless until Elsa turns away.

But she doesn't. Not this time, so Anna has a hard time catching her breath.

"It does." Elsa lifts her hand and tucks a stray lock behind Anna's left ear as she stills. "I do like that dress; perhaps if we're lucky it'll be...more than just green in the coming months?"

"...what?" Anna says, opening her eyes.

* * *

><p>No romance novels, no dancing with men, no suitors, <em>ogling<em> women in public…

Need she even look for more proof?

So of course Anna receives her third confirmation the next morning.

"Good morning," Elsa says to her as Anna shuffles in. Anna nods blearily as she walks up to her, behind her chair, past it, and pushes open the door.

She's back from the kitchens a few seconds later; Elsa is sipping her coffee with a small smile. "To your left," she says, indicating the chair that's been pulled out already, and Anna sits down, thankful that at least one of them has a working brain at this painful hour. She sinks into the chair and groans as she sets her head down on her arm.

"I suppose it would be too much to ask you to be both awake _and_ dressed," her sister says. "You didn't want to try on your new dress?"

"No." Anna's voice is muffled by her sleeping gown. And her elbow. The dress is lovely - very pink - but Anna's body is barely functional right now. Her mind is just along for the ride. Dressing would be well beyond her capabilities at the moment.

"Elsa...can you outlaw mornings," she mumbles, and receives a pat on the arm for her troubles.

"Oh please, you'll get used to getting up at this hour in no time."

Anna rolls her head to give Elsa a look that is a cross between complete disbelief and the utter fatigue known only to those brave few who have decided to rise an hour earlier; heroes, the lot of them. Her view is sideways from this position, but she could pick out Elsa's smirk from ten, from twenty paces, blindfolded, if she had to, and knows that her sister finds her antics amusing.

"I'd still like a law. One that says that mornings don't exist." She slowly draws herself up to slouch in her chair, watching as Elsa licks her lips and sets her coffee aside.

"Wouldn't we all like that? Except the farmers, I suppose." She taps her lips with one finger. "But, on the subject...if you could change one law, just one, what would it be?"

If Elsa asks a follow up question where she is expected to explain her reasoning then Anna is not the only one bereft of her wits at this hour. "Change a law, um…" She stares at her plate, which is empty, and then glances at Elsa's plate, which is also empty, and without any traces of food, either. She must have waited, and possibly for some time.

"I'd make it illegal for anyone to hurt you," she says.

"That's very sweet of you," Elsa says, "but that's already illegal. Perhaps something else…?"

"But I can't think of something else." What else could she want, anyways?

Elsa draws a fingertip over the rim of her cup, humming a tune so softly Anna has to strain to hear it.

"What would you change, if you could?" Anna asks; needlessly, she thinks, since Elsa is queen and has the power to do anything.

Or…

She thinks of the recent spat – Elsa calls it a dispute, but Anna sees no reason to be delicate with one's enemies – between Arendelle and Weselton, of the latter's decision to focus on spreading nasty rumors about the former's queen, concentrating on eliminating Arendelle's long-term trading partners in order to force their own monopolies. She thinks of the way that Elsa's plush lips thin as she reads over news of allies from generations past making excuses about why they've decided not to send dignitaries this year. She thinks of Kristoff stomping into his room, throwing his jacket into the corner as he complains of another rumor, another crude song, another nasty remark, he heard snaking around town, and how it makes his hands itch to put the offenders in their place for insulting his best friend's beloved sister.

Perhaps not anything. Perhaps that's why she imagines being able to do so.

Elsa has been silent for so long that Anna wonders what is going on in her head. It's something she's wondered since childhood, a constant desire to know what it is that Elsa dreams about, what it is that she ponders, how her mind works and where her thoughts fly. Anna's thoughts have always been down to earth or higher than the loftiest of clouds with little in between, but she imagines that Elsa's mind travels hither and yon across a broad landscape that has been carefully sculpted by years of contemplation, quiet study, and an inherent intelligence that gleams in the eyes that Elsa turns on her now.

"I'd let anyone marry whomever they chose to," she answers.

Anna's eyes widen. "Even women?"

Elsa gives her a fond, if exasperated look. "They're...Anna, I know you're tired, but women are automatically included as a part of the term 'anyo-"

"No no no, I mean-" Anna claps her hands to her lips, wondering if this is too forward of her, wondering if Elsa realizes what she's trying to say, wondering if she'll react badly, wondering if…

Oh, forget it.

"I mean...could women marry women?"

Elsa considers this with as much gravity as a silly question spluttered out by a half-asleep foolish younger sister deserves; which is to say, with a thoughtful expression and amused eyes.

"I...well." She shrugs, and picks up her coffee again. She smiles into the distance, unaware of how Anna's breathing has slowed as she waits for her answer. "If they so desire, who would I be to stand in the way of their love?"

Oh good God Anna _knew_ she was right.

* * *

><p>"Ouch!"<p>

Anna bites her tongue to keep from making any more noise as her stubbed toe throbs. That's what she gets for traveling without a light, but she can't sneak into the kitchens for a good old chocolate craving with a light marking her presence, now can she? The moonlight through the large windows should be more than enough.

She stumbles through the door and is instantly faced with the sight of her sister sitting at the table, guilt written all over her face, a spoon in her mouth, and a small container of what looks like chocolate mousse in front of her. She's wearing a nightgown that drapes gently over her body, her hair a free flowing river, and the moonlight sinks into every curve, setting her to silver flame.

Elsa's throat bobs as she swallows, slipping the spoon out of her mouth and giving Anna a sheepish look. "Uh…hi."

Anna laughs and drags a stool over before sitting down. She peers across the thin table at her sister's dish. "Is that the mousse they're going to serve for next week's fancy to-do?"

"This," Elsa says, as she scoops up some of the dessert, "is indeed the recipe the cooks planned on using for the soiree the French dignitaries have planned for us. But they'll want to make more of it; we can't use old mousse." She slips the spoon into her mouth, withdraws it empty, and mulls over the taste. "I wanted to see if it was up to code."

Anna's grin is more of a smirk than a smile. "Yeah, I had a chocolate craving, too." Elsa shoots her a 'what can you do?' look before taking in another spoonful.

She sticks the spoon back into her dish. "I hope the French ambassador's wife will be playing; I've heard she's quite gifted on the épinette des Vosges." She pronounces it like a native, but Anna's smile has turned into a full smirk by now.

Of course Elsa would want to see more of the woman she'd been ogling.

"I…beg your pardon?" Elsa asks, her eyes wide, and Anna flinches when she realizes that she said that out loud.

"I just mean…well don't you see?" Might as well run with it if the cat's out of the bag. "You prefer women, Elsa."

"…I what?" her sister asks, staring at her in shock.

Anna returns the look. Elsa is even more in denial than she thought. "Isn't it obvious?"

She begins listing the evidences off one by one, lifting a finger in turn. "You don't like reading romance novels about men and women because you're not interested in men. You like to…to _look_ at other women – and I mean really look – in a special sort of way, in the way that means you like them. You'd let women marry women because clearly, that's what you want to do, too! And finally, even though you _do_ like dancing," Anna says, smacking the table for emphasis, making Elsa jump a little in her seat, "you don't like to dance with _men_!"

"…which is how the whole thing started, really," she admits.

Elsa looks completely stunned for a moment, but then she pulls herself together. "What 'whole thing' is this?"

"My report." Oh wow, that…actually makes sense now. "On…your preferences. Because clearly _you_ have no idea, so…I had to figure it out for you. And I did. So…surprise?" Anna spreads her hands, palms up, shrugging. "You…you like women."

"And that's okay!" she interjects just before Elsa can open her mouth, throwing out a hand. "Really! I just…it's something you needed to know."

Her sister reflects on this information. She toys with the spoon in her hand, looking down at her dessert tray. Anna taps her fingertips against the table. The two of them play with their hands for several moments, not looking at each other. Anna is afraid that she's offended her sister in some way or worse, frightened her, because Elsa is quiet, her expression closed whenever Anna steals a look at her face. That would be the exact opposite of what this was about; she was supposed to be helping Elsa realize something she had been denying without judging her, not send her scurrying away.

Elsa lifts her head. "That would explain some things," she says, completely calm, even thoughtful, and Anna releases the breath she'd been holding, shoulders slumping in relief.

She stares at the cabinets behind Anna's head, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed, dredging up memories and feelings she must have ignored, or not understood over the long years. "Like how I've never understood what other women mean when they talk about how handsome a man is."

Anna nods sagely. "Yes, that would explain that."

"Or how I've always found offers of marriage annoying at best and, well…" Elsa chuckles, shaking her head. "_Terrifying_ at worst, I suppose. The thought of marrying a man…" She shudders.

"Doesn't it all make sense, now?" Anna asks. "It must feel good to have an answer, right?"

Elsa nods; slowly at first, and then her tempo increases. "It does all make sense. All those little things that I hadn't thought important until now…"

"Well," Anna says with a happy little smile, feeling inordinately helpful and pleased she could sort things out for her sister, "there you are."

Elsa looks Anna dead in the eye when she says, "and it explains why I'm madly in love with a woman."

"You…you're WHAT?" Anna shrieks and claps her hands to her head when Elsa winces and makes shushing motions; she doesn't need _her_ to tell her it's the middle of the night, but how else is she supposed to react to this information? "But that…you…!" She tears at her hair because this news is completely unexpected and she needs something to hold onto. "That completely cements my hypot-no, that proves it! Elsa, why didn't you tell me-wait." Her hands drop to the table top as she stares at her sister in horror. "Have you told _her_?"

For some reason the thought makes her stomach curdle. The idea of Elsa in love is a wonderful thing; Elsa _should_ be in love, should wake up giddy and go to sleep content, should blush and sigh, should while away the hours, lost in happy daydreams that turn into reality.

But she shouldn't be in love with _someone_, because…because that's awful. A formless, shapeless image that makes Elsa's heart flutter is acceptable because Elsa deserves love – God knows how much she deserves it – but to give that image a name and a face would make it wrong, somehow.

And it's awful, because the last thing Anna could ever want would be to take something from her sister, but the thought of Elsa being held is sweet, and the thought of her being held by someone is a bitter flavor that lingers on her tongue, coating it with a mixture of shameful disgust and sinking displeasure that tastes like betrayal.

"Of course not," Elsa says, her sister oblivious to Anna's inner turmoil.

That shouldn't make her feel glad. What it does do is make her feel frustrated for feeling glad.

"But _why_ not, Elsa?" she hears herself asking, because she wants to know, but she doesn't, but she _does_, because Elsa shouldn't have to keep running, not from something so beautiful as love. Elsa shouldn't turn away, because she should know by now that Anna is, and always will be, there for her. They have each other now, she shouldn't be afraid.

Afraid to love…to love someone else…

"I wanted to know first if she loved me, as well." Elsa's voice is soft, as though she doesn't believe it to be possible.

Anna boggles at that. "If? _If_? Elsa, who couldn't love you? You're perfect! You're smart, you're loving, you're considerate and poised and clever and sweet and a million other things that are incredible and that make you _you_. Anyone who _doesn't_ love you is a complete and utter fool!"

Elsa smiles and spoons up a heaping of mousse. "Thank you," she says. "But there was _one_ other reason I was waiting."

"What's that?" What possible reason could there be to wait for love? Why should Elsa have to wait?

"I was hoping she'd figure it out herself," Elsa says. Her eyes meet Anna's, and she finds that she cannot look away. There is something in her eyes that holds her there, something that sets Anna's heart to pounding, the only warning of what is to come.

Elsa stands, her stool squeaking as she pushes it back.

She leans forward, lifting the spoon.

And slips it into Anna's open mouth.

The creamy dessert hits her with the force of a train, exploding into sugary sweetness in her mouth as her eyes grow wide and Elsa's grow voracious. It's fascinating, and even a little scary, to watch her sister's expression move from calm patience to something foreign but thrilling.

Anna swallows, and Elsa pulls the spoon from her mouth. Whatever Anna was about to say dies in her throat as Elsa sucks the spoon into her own mouth, cleaning off the rest of the chocolate, her eyes never leaving her sister's.

"I was feeling really smart when I first came in here," Anna whispers. "Even kind of…useful." Evidently she is neither.

Elsa's fingertips on her chin are gentle as she tips Anna's head back. Her eyes are anything but; Anna thinks that this must be what it is like to look directly into the heart of a storm, and realizes that Elsa has always been holding back. Holding back the knowledge of her guilt, the knowledge of her secret, and now, the knowledge of her power, the power that roots Anna to the spot and reminds her that for all Elsa is her sister, she is queen.

"There are plenty of people who are useful, who are smart, and who aren't worth a single moment of your time," she says in a voice that offers no room for argument, not that Anna would have any to give.

"But there aren't many people who are as humble, who are as devoted, who are as giving and loving and courageous and self-sacrificing as you are." Her thumb smooths over Anna's lower lip. Her eyes are captivating, shining with an inner light. "There aren't many Annas in the world, which is good, because I've only ever loved the one."

"Oh," Anna says, because here Elsa pauses, as though she thinks Anna has anything to say, but Anna has run out of words because they are such small, silly things against the weight of the fire in her chest as she stares into those beautiful eyes and thinks she can plumb the depths of Elsa's soul.

"I have been wondering," Elsa whispers. Her words slip out of her mouth and slide over Anna's body, making her shiver. It isn't cold in the kitchen, but her body aches anyways, and she sways towards Elsa, craving her body heat and more; Elsa, who must be feeling the same way, because she too leans in.

Elsa glances to the side, one edge of her mouth curling upward, and Anna takes the moment to draw in several deep breaths while she can.

"It's very sweet, isn't it? The mousse," she adds, when she sees Anna's blank look.

She's talking about chocolate. How can she talk about chocolate at a time like this, when Anna _knows_, when her body thrums with the knowledge, with the crackling potential, with the hissing promise that burdens the air with her louder and louder breaths and Elsa's eternal, maddening silence.

Elsa's gaze returns to hers, a trip that takes ages. "But I wonder…" she says, tilting her head back to regard her sister. Anna wonders what she sees, but she can't wonder long, because Elsa is leaning forward, across the table, across the gulf of years of separation, across the bounds of what is natural and normal and crossing into the realm of that which is perfect and right.

Elsa's lips meet hers, and for the second time in her life Anna feels her heart stop.

The kiss is softer than she could have ever imagined, if she had imagined it, as though Elsa thinks that Anna can't take too much, that she must be treated with care, with gentle caresses that nonetheless send shockwaves crashing over her naked skin, making her feel both vulnerable and safe. Elsa's kiss is as light as her eyes.

But Anna doesn't want light. She wants Elsa. All of her; all of her love and all of her power and all of her intensity and all of her being. She doesn't want her to run, or hold back, or hide.

She says as much with her hands as they cup Elsa's face, entreating her to let go.

And finally, Elsa gives in, and Anna's knees buckle, her thighs connecting with the seat as her legs give out, Elsa's mouth chasing her and bearing down, overwhelming her as her lips move against Anna's with such purpose even her kiss-addled mind can recognize that Elsa has planned this, has dreamed of this, has wanted this just as badly as Anna knows she does now. She tries to give back, to match Elsa's power with her own, but her energy is nothing to Elsa's ferocity when it has been awakened.

Anna breaks the kiss, because she is only human and has to breathe, but she can sense Elsa's hunger just a few inches beyond that rumbles like storm clouds on the horizon, and Anna's pants are harsh against the silence broken only by Elsa's quiet breaths as she strokes Anna's neck.

"Just as I thought," Elsa murmurs.

She draws closer and Anna can taste the coming kiss in the air between them. Elsa smiles, lazy and lurid, her teeth brushing against Anna's bottom lip, her eyes half-lidded as she waits for Anna to catch her breath just so she can steal it away again.

Just before they meet and Anna can surrender to that bliss that conquered her so easily once more, Elsa's heated whisper ghosts over her swollen lips.

"You're sweeter."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Anyone rereading the title now? Heh. I figured I've written too much dominant Anna; time to let some of that swirling storm inside come out, eh? Hope you enjoyed it.


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